On May 5 and 6, 2015, Ryan Hutton and Rafael Henry from Customs and Border Protection (CBP) Headquarters invited a group of AILA members to attend a southern border tour in Texas. On the first day, we visited the land border crossing at the Hidalgo Port of Entry, and on the second day we visited the Brownsville Port of Entry, which includes land, rail and sea crossings. The personnel at both ports were extremely welcoming and spent several hours demonstrating the use of their inspection procedures and equipment. We witnessed not only immigration inspections but also screenings for contraband, Customs violations, and agricultural pests.

As we walked through the ports, we were able to speak with various specialists. For example, an X-ray scanner showed us images of truck cargo and pointed out instances in which drugs were concealed within various compartments of vehicles. (These were about as easy for the untrained eye to spot as babies’ organs on an ultrasound image: not very). We also witnessed the wanton destruction of several luscious mangoes by a skilled agricultural inspector checking for insect larvae. He told us he had chopped up so many mangoes in his career that he can no longer eat them (a travesty).

As the tours progressed, a theme began to emerge. Regardless of which type of specialist we spoke to, each one expressed an awareness that the vast majority of travelers and/or cargo screened were compliant with federal regulations for admission. Each specialist was trained to look for the proverbial needle in the haystack—the one traveler (or poor, sweet mango) that was not compliant. As attorneys who deal exclusively with the immigration piece of border issues, it is helpful to be aware of this pervasive mindset. Inspectors at the border have a mental construct of a “good” case or applicant and when questioning a traveler, they are looking for something out of the ordinary, something that doesn’t sit right, doesn’t fit the mold, seems to be concealing something.

A twin theme was a layered approach to screening. Travelers and cargo are first given a cursory inspection at the primary inspection booth. Officers typically clear each vehicle in under 1 minute. Their job is to quickly clear travelers who do not raise any red flags while referring questionable vehicles or individuals to secondary inspection. All of the screening equipment reflects this two tiered approach. For example, each officer at primary inspection wears a small device on his belt that detects radiation. These devices will go off in the vicinity of any radioactive material, but they cannot detect which radioactive isotope set off the alarm. That is not the role at primary: they just say “whoop-whoop-whoop- PROBLEM!” and send the person inside. Then inside, CBP has more specialized equipment that is capable of determining the exact radioactive isotope and whether it is the result of medical imaging or a nuclear weapon. Again, there is a parallel in this procedure to the screening of applicants for immigration benefits. That is, officers at primary inspection are trained to ask cursory questions to determine whether someone needs to spend more time with an officer. If someone is coming in to buy groceries, and there are no red flags, they likely will be admitted very quickly. But anyone who needs an I-94 will be sent to secondary, as will anyone who cannot immediately be cleared.

It is extremely helpful to us as attorneys to understand this law enforcement mindset, and the way officers are trained to issue spot. It helps us to better prepare our clients for the inspection process and to understand how to present themselves at the port of entry when seeking immigration benefits. It is also beneficial to understand how this process fits within CBP’s wider law enforcement mission.

If you can look past the ugly politics in Arizona, it is truly a beautiful place to live and work. I have resided in Tucson, Arizona, for most of my life and there are times when I’ll be driving, hiking or running in the surrounding wilderness and the scenery is breathtaking. The saguaro cactus, the javelina, the bobcats and the rattlesnakes are some of the unique aspects of the Sonoran Desert ecology. Sadly, over the past decades this stunning background has been slowly decaying with increased militarization and more border patrol vehicles, drones, surveillance and detection equipment scattering the desert panorama. If the border security bill, S. 750, becomes law—and it just passed out of the Senate Homeland Security Committee–it would further eviscerate the beauty of the millions of acres of federal land in the Yuma and Tucson Border Patrol sectors.

S. 750 (“Arizona Borderlands Protection and Preservation Act”) is a bill that was written by Arizona Senator John McCain. In spite of its name, it may very well have the opposite impact on protection and preservation of the desert. It would give 100% access for the “functioning and operational capability to conduct continuous and integrated manned or unmanned, monitoring, sensing, or surveillance” by the U.S. Border Patrol. That includes national parks, national forests, national wildlife refuges, national monuments and other public lands. This bill permits widespread deployment of communications, routine motorized patrols and surveillance that could encroach upon the sacred tribal lands of the Tohono O’odham and the Pasqua Yaqui.

S. 750 is a bad idea and should be opposed!

Most frightening from an immigration viewpoint is the completely infeasible sealed border that Sen. McCain wants in the bill, a standard that DHS Secretary Johnson says is “unworkable” and that N. Korea and other totalitarian regimes with a shoot to kill practice can’t even achieve. Instead of attempting to pass piecemeal border security bills, Senators McCain and Flake should be re-focusing their immigration-related efforts on trying to rekindle the push for comprehensive and common-sense solutions. The business community is struggling to bring or retain high-skilled workers in the wake of the 2015 H-1B filing debacle where 233,000 applications were filed and more than 2/3rds of these applications (plus the filing fees) are being rejected due to an antiquated quota system. Ultimately, this only hurts our nation’s economy.

The agriculture community has been pressing for their own visa reforms and the need for a modernized guest worker program and potential path to a green card. The family-based immigration system is a mess and in dire need of changes. Millions of hard-working, deserving undocumented individuals remain in limbo. So, rather than trying to push for a straight border security bill that would ultimately increase the militarization on the border and have a negative impact on the desert environment, I respectfully ask that the two Arizona senators look at the bigger picture as they did in 2013 and avoid the unworkable border-security-above-all approach to reform.

I find myself in the unusual position today of agreeing with Rep. Peter King (R-NY) in his NY Daily News Op-Ed Wednesday (Guest column: Brooklyn terror suspects show it’s insane to not approve money for Homeland Security ) where he argues that security of the United States is too important and that funding the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) is essential to protect our country. He is right. As we sit back and watch the latest drama unfold on Capitol Hill, one cannot but wonder why funding our national security would ever become a political issue. Clearly it is in our nation’s best interest to fund the agency which is responsible for protecting the homeland from terrorist attack. Now more than ever Congress should recognize that terrorism can happen in the West and is being called upon by radical leaders abroad. All they need to do is look at our friends in France, Holland and Canada to see recent examples of attacks on innocent civilians and local police. Moreover, recently the terrorist group Al Shabaab called for an attack on American civilians in shopping malls such as the Mall of America. Rep. King points out the need to fund DHS based on the three individuals who were arrested recently in New York City who planned to travel to Syria to fight with ISIL or attack American civilians in New York if they could not reach Syria. Rep. King is properly putting the people of New York and America ahead of a political agenda.

Regardless of one’s position on the legality of President Obama’s Executive Action memos or immigration in general, we should all be able to agree as Americans that the safety and protection of the people of the United States is a priority regardless of political party. As I write this, Congress is on a path to fund DHS for only three weeks. It is unfortunate that members of Congress continue to gamble with national security and our lives to advance individual political gain. We can only sit back and grit our teeth as the critical votes start to line up before a dysfunctional Congress that is putting party politics before American lives and wellbeing.

Rep. King correctly notes that “you don’t have to be a genius to carry out a terrorist attack.” You also don’t have to be a genius to understand that national security and the safety of America is more important than petty partisan politics. Rep. King gets it. Unfortunately, it seems there are not enough members of Congress who want to stand up and represent the American people rather than their individual parties and anti-immigration politics. We can only hope their selfish gamble doesn’t cost American lives.

There was no way for me to explain my time at Artesia in one blog post. Instead, I offer a look at one of the days I spent there in posts today, continuing over the next three days as well. I hope readers get a feel for what it is like, as a volunteer and a human being, to see these women and children, to get the chance to help them, and to know that we are really making a difference. I also want to congratulate the spectacular Artesia volunteers – last week they brought the asylum merits cases won up to 7 out of 7!

So the day begins:

4:50 am. The alarm goes off. I need several snooze button sessions to finally get up.

I prepared my clothing the night before to save a couple of minutes. I need to be out of the hotel by 6:15 am if I am to make it on time to the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center (FLETC), also known as the Artesia Family Detention Center.

6:00 am. I am out the door with my bag and laptop. In my bag are several oat and honey bars and two bottles of water. I was instructed to bring some and will discover later why this is important.

I am wearing a suit and tie to instill confidence in the detained mothers and kids I will be seeing throughout the day. I stop by the hotel breakfast bar. The buffet offers eggs, bacon, and toast with some apples and bananas on the side. I need to hurry. I taste the eggs and decide to skip them since powdered eggs just do not fit the bill. I grab two apples and a banana for the road.

I start my rental car. I notice most of the big trucks from last night are already gone. They belong to all the roughnecks I saw the night before. Oil workers. After all, Artesia, NM is an oil town and it smells like it too. I look out of place in my attorney uniform. I turn left onto Main Street and go down several blocks. There is no real traffic; it is too early. Everything is closed. That turns out to be a common theme in this town.

I turn right on 26th Street and follow it down several miles. I pass the town’s Walmart store. I will discover later, that this is where some released detainees will be brought for modest clothing sprees. I make a right on Richey Road and it takes me straight to the Detention Center.

6:45 am. As I pull into the parking lot, I notice a van already waiting for the volunteers. I need to hurry. Before I can get in the van, I have to go into the security building for a picture and security badge. This is a daily routine.

I enter the van and see most of the morning’s volunteers carefully arranged inside. Several crates with files also share the confined space. I manage to fit in a small spot. The van is filled to capacity. Yet, four other volunteers are still making their way to the vehicle.

7:00 am sharp. The driver makes the final call. If you miss it, you may have to wait until 10:00 am to make the next trip. The van takes off. Several feet ahead we stop at the guard station. The security guard wants to see all of our badges. He opens the door and several of the file crates almost fall out. We are a tightly packed van of attorney sardines. He is satisfied and lets us through.

We travel 500 feet at 10 mph. The speed is regulation. I notice a sports field with a running track. We finally reach our destination. We enter what looks like a small city block filled with light brown trailers along both sides of the street. I count at least 4-5 on each side. As we enter the gated village, I see there are other trailers to the side. I also observe countless Department of Homeland Security (DHS) officers walking around or sitting on chairs. It is clear; they are the authority in this place. We cannot wander around. We have to be escorted at all times.

We unload our crates, grab our bags and are escorted to the attorney trailer. As we enter the mobile office, we notice construction next to the trailers. We are informed this is where the bungalows for the schools will be located. We are asked to sign in by the duty guard. We finally reach our space. It is the far end of the building. We have a column of small tables and chairs facing a wall. A tall divider separates the attorney workspace from the area where the mothers and children will be meeting with the attorneys. All of the attorneys scramble for a table, chair, and an outlet. For the next several days, every morning will feature this non-choreographed attorney dance a la musical chairs.

7:15 am. Once we set up our laptops, the mothers and children start filtering into the trailer. The previous night, our lead attorney and administrative assistant prepared the list of the mothers we will be seeing. Each mother is already assigned to a particular attorney. We are ready to go.

The onsite assistant starts calling out names. When you hear your assigned client, you are on. Some attorneys start prepping their clients for bond hearings that will take place at 8:00 am. Others start prepping clients for credible fear interviews or negative credible fear determinations that will also follow. Others will do intakes.

Each mother has a child or children of varying ages. They are primarily between 3-7 years old. The guards put on movies for them to view while the attorneys interview the mothers. You don’t appreciate hits like Rio, Aladdin, or Bible Stories, until you hear them 10 times a day in Spanish. Throughout the day, I begin to admire the art of movie voice-over translations, and catch myself daydreaming about a possible future career move.

I am assigned a credible fear interview. I am fluent in Spanish so I establish rapport quickly with the young mother. I explain what she will encounter during the interview. The mother tells me she is afraid to go back because of the violence. I explain the nature of asylum and the enumerated grounds as set out by the statutes. I dig deeper and she shares with me that the MS 13 gang members demanded she hand over her teenage daughter for their use. They have threatened her repeatedly. The gang has vowed to kidnap both her teenage daughter, and her younger daughter as well. She continues to tell them “No.” As an added pressure, the gangs demand the mother pay them a “rent” or “renta” from the earnings of her small store or they will proceed with the kidnapping and kill her as well. The asylum officer comes over and asks if we are ready. I respond by asking for 2 more minutes. She agrees with some hesitation. I need time to make sure the mother can fully tell her story.

The credible fear interview takes place in a separate trailer. We are escorted through a maze of pathways and encounter other escorts taking mothers and their kids to various trailers in the village. I see a husky officer escorting at least 5 mothers with their children lingering behind. In my mind, I get an image of Halloween, when mothers take their kids trick or treating. I have been that husky escort taking my kids around the different streets. I quickly shut down the image realizing this is not Halloween and we are not on the friendly streets of a real town.

The credible fear interview lasts about 1 hour. I am satisfied the mother has told her story. But I am a bit troubled by a couple of the questions. The asylum officer asked, “Have you ever been harmed or persecuted based on belonging to a particular social group where you have characteristics that you cannot change, like being gay or having HIV?” The mother’s response was “No, I am not gay and I do not have HIV.” I am allowed to ask follow-up questions at the end of the interview. I state to the mother that being a woman or her gender is also a characteristic she cannot change, and ask her if she has ever been persecuted because of this. She quickly responds, “That is exactly why the gangs are doing this to me and my daughters, because we are women and they can attack us without having to worry about being arrested by the authorities.” Boom.

The officer states that according to the interview notes, the Border Patrol Officer wrote down that she had not expressed a fear of persecution. This was the third time in as many days that I heard this particular statement. I inquired with the other volunteer attorneys who confirmed they also heard the same statement over and over again. According to the Border Patrol notes, apparently no one was expressing a fear of persecution upon return to in their country. It seems a bit hard to believe given what so many of these women have experienced and the scars they often carry. The CIS officer informed us a decision would be made within 3 days. Several days later, I discovered the mother with the young daughters passed her credible fear interview and could move on to a bond hearing before an Immigration Judge.

If you are an AILA member who wants to volunteer at a family detention center, please go to http://www.aila.org/beavolunteer or feel free to contact Maheen Taqui at mtaqui@aila.org–we are looking for more as the work continues and we could really use your help.

To watch videos of the volunteers at Artesia and elsewhere sharing their experiences, go to this playlist on AILA National’s YouTube page. To see all the blog posts about this issue select Family Detention as the category on the right side of this page.

The three weeks are a kaleidoscope of shifting images: visual, auditory, sensory, and emotional. From 90 degree heat to heavy, cold, rain and flash flooding. It hadn’t occurred to me to bring sweaters to the New Mexico desert. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to the U.S. government either, as many of the mothers and their children ‘detained’ in this hastily thrown together prison had only plastic sandals as footwear through the several-inches-deep puddles. And more than one woman was forced to duct tape her sandals together when they cracked nearly completely across, told that the commissary “didn’t have their size shoe.” Blankets were worn in lieu of jackets and children continued wearing shorts in wet, 65 degree weather because the government didn’t have long pants or jackets. All the while, just up the road, the local Chamber of Commerce was turning away donations of clothes and toys and toiletries, because the U.S. government would not allow them to be distributed to the detainees, and the Chamber no longer had space to store the items.

We still have not gotten a satisfactory answer to the question of why the donations could not be distributed. But apparently, like everything about this rapidly constructed change in national detention policy, it has something to do with our “national security.”

I’ve lost count of the women to whom I tried to explain: “you and your children are in prison here because you happened to be part of a large number of vulnerable women and children fleeing Central America this year. . . and there were so many of you, that you terrified the United States, and putting you all in prison is their response.”

As an immigration attorney, an important part of my role is to interpret a foreign, terrifying, bureaucratic nightmare of contradictory forces full of traps for the unwary in a way that educates and hopefully empowers the client with whom I am speaking. Sometimes this interpretation is easier than others, but as current U.S. immigration policy is not typified by logic or reason, explanation is inevitably challenging, and interpretation in a way that educates and empowers often requires a crash course in current U.S. politics. Explaining how young women, with their infants and children, running for their lives from violence and threats against which they had no other protection, threatened the national security of the most powerful nation on the planet was particularly Kafkaesque.

Fortunately, there was rarely time for that level of interpretation. Most days we arrived at the facility before 7:00 a.m., we were rarely through with hearings and interviews before 6:00 p.m., and our daily staff meeting/case conference which began at 7:00 p.m. lasted until we were done. . . almost never before 10:00 p.m. It was a major concession on the government’s part when they agreed to stop holding interviews on week-ends. That meant that the project attorneys could now spend Saturdays and Sundays focused entirely on working directly with clients, and we could skip the staff meeting/case conference in favor of a night off one evening a week.

The faces, names, and stories run together. I was fortunate, because I was able to volunteer for nearly three full weeks, working consistently with a handful of clients woven through countless others with whom I only met once. Given that we are paying for this work out of our own pockets, with some expenses reimbursed by donations, and given that most of the attorneys are volunteering at the cost of their own employment, vacation time, or private practices, few of us are able to stay more than a week or two at a time. Most of us take at least one, if not two or more, cases home with us. And most of us who volunteer come home committed to returning, if at all possible.

The experience is intense, and embeds in us the faces and the stories, and moments of human connection. Singing Las Mañanitas and Happy Birthday to a beaming seven year old, her mother’s eyes echoing the tears in all of ours–the songs, a couple of hair bands and a page of stickers we hastily signed with our dreams and wishes for her were the only gifts we were allowed by the government to offer. (And even the stickers were proscribed shortly thereafter, as they allegedly became both litter and objects of conflict). It is impossible, although I tried a few times, to express my deep admiration for the strength and force of character of all these women. Most have endured one or more violent attacks–rape, kidnapping, extortion, sexual and physical assaults, all ending in social ostracization and isolation. Most of them only made the difficult choice to flee when their children became the targets of the violence with which they themselves had learned to exist.

On the scale of social vulnerability, women with young children are among the most vulnerable. In societies being torn apart by gang violence, where violence against women is both widely accepted and rarely punished, young mothers with no male protectors become easy pickings. No one becomes a refugee by choice, and mothers do not flee with their children unless they have no other alternatives. And yet our nation’s response to these refugees is to label them a national security threat and imprison them.

An important normative principle underlying international relations is that of the proportional response. At the same time, the inability to measure proportionality from any perspective other than its own sense of (in)security is an inherent weakness of the powerful—whether nation, party, corporation, group, or individual. Power almost inevitably over-reacts to perceived threat, sowing the seeds of its own eventual destruction. Women and children fleeing violence are refugees, not a national security threat. Imprisoning them is a deeply counter-productive response.

Over the three weeks, on my commute to and from Artesia, the only music I could stand to listen to was Ariel Ramirez’s Misa Criolla. Ten Piedad de Nosotros will always remind me of the women I met. The humility of piedad in the face of their courage would be a far more appropriate national response.

One final iconic image from my last evening in Artesia: blowing in the wind against the grey clouded sky, a large, faded, very tattered, American flag.

Written by Marti L. Jones, AILA Member and Artesia Volunteer

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If you are an AILA member who wants to volunteer at Artesia or elsewhere, please see our Pro Bono page or feel free to contact Maheen Taqui at mtaqui@aila.org–we have volunteers scheduled through mid-October but are looking for more as the work continues and we could really use your help.

People didn’t seem to matter in Artesia, not their comfort, not their privacy, not the simple human dignity we all take for granted.

There was deep and profound soul shattering heartbreak, watching these vulnerable women and children who have come to this country seeking asylum being systematically crushed and broken.

Every child in this place was sick. Every. Single. One. Coughs, flus, runny noses, watery eyes, losing weight, not sleeping, vomiting, diarrhea, not eating. Ever single woman without exception when asked if they had seen a doctor said that the nurse they had seen gave them Tylenol and told them to drink water no matter what was wrong with the patient.

One of my clients, who had been denied credible fear as a victim of domestic violence, something that should have been granted at the interview, and was denied credible fear again in front of the immigration judge, spent an afternoon telling me about the horrific abuse she suffered at the hands of her ex husband during their marriage and then after their divorce. This was a hard enough story to hear. She then told me that she was about ready to give up and go back even though she thought he would probably kill her for taking their son to the US because she had been treated so badly and was feeling so hopeless there in Artesia.

Here is the story of her first week in Artesia: they arrived and her son, who is 6 had a cut on his arm that looked infected. She and the son were told they had to be put into isolation so the son could be given antibiotics for 24 hours so he wouldn’t be contagious. They put her into a room with her son alone. They were not allowed out to eat or to let the kid play or exercise. There were no toys or TV in this room. After about 18 hours the doctor finally came to give him medicine, thus starting the 24 hours countdown. One of the guards tried to cheer her up saying the 24 hours were almost over. She told them the doctor had just come and begged them to at least put them in a room with some toys or a TV. They did move her and her son to a room with a TV. But inexplicably the 24 hours turned into 5 days. They weren’t told why. They weren’t let out except to be escorted to the bathroom.

At day 4 the mom got sick herself and was vomiting and having diarrhea. She called the guard to ask to take her to the bathroom. They told her she would have to wait. She said she couldn’t, that she was sick. No one came to get her and she ended up defecating in her pants. She was telling me this in a room full of people, because there is no such thing as confidentiality at Artesia, the attorney room has no way to meet privately with your clients. She was crying, I was crying. She said it was the most humiliating experience in her life, more humiliating than being beaten by her husband. When the guards came to get her they laughed at her. She had to walk across the compound covered in her own feces to the bathroom to take a shower. Then she had to walk back in a towel because she didn’t have any extra clothes. She was humiliated. Her son was terrified. She said she wanted to give up even if it meant going home and being beaten or being killed. She was being treated like an animal and a criminal. Her son had lost 7 or 8 pounds in 3 weeks. And this is just one of the stories that I heard of women and their children being treated like sub-humans. My federal criminal clients are treated far better

Look for my final thoughts in a post tomorrow.

Written by Angela Williams, AILA Member and Artesia Volunteer

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If you are an AILA member who wants to volunteer at Artesia or elsewhere, please see our Pro Bono page or feel free to contact Maheen Taqui at mtaqui@aila.org–the end of September and early October are short on volunteers and we could really use your help.

In June and July, the humanitarian crisis on the border lit up the news and it was all I could think about. The headlines were full of unaccompanied minors, politicians and protesters; the front pages had pictures of children sleeping in warehouses that were too cold. My practice started seeing an increase in minors who had been released to family in the area. Their stories were harrowing: tales of coyotes and smugglers, of running through desserts, hiding from narcos, seeing children fall from moving trains. Those were the stuff of nightmares, and I started having them, thinking about the children every night when I went home.

I kept comparing the children fleeing to my nieces and nephews; I cannot imagine the conditions in their countries that would make the Guatemalan version of my sister decide that sending kids on a multi country trek to distant relatives in the United States is safer than allowing them to continue to live where they were. No one can. The more I thought about it the more I felt I had to do something. I heard about a group of lawyers from Kansas City going to Artesia, New Mexico to help at one of the “family detention centers.” I expected to go there and have a heartbreaking week, but I wasn’t truly prepared. What I experienced was worse than heartbreaking. Going to Artesia was both the best and the worst thing I have ever done and it reminded me why I became a lawyer.

First, I was wrong about so many things. Artesia has no unaccompanied minors; all of the children who are there are with their mothers, which I thought might make it better. It doesn’t. Second, while I expected some level of poor treatment, I expected that a basic level of due process would be observed. It is not. Finally, while I expected to find some amount of institutional roadblocks and resistance to the lawyers there working on behalf of the women and against their right to seek asylum in general, I expected that it would be more along the line of snarky attitudes and semi-racist commentary. In reality what is happening in Artesia is nothing less than a purposeful and systematic effort to deny these women and their children meaningful access, and in many cases access at all, to not just our asylum process but a very basic and simple level of due process.

This is the first of three blog posts about my time there, what I learned, and the outrage I felt there and still feel today. I know now that we must do everything we can to end the detention of families.

I struggled all week while I was there to put a word to what I was feeling. There was the feeling of being emotionally assaulted by the horrible stories of these women. The abuse they suffered in their countries, the terror they suffered at the hands of the gangs, their domestic partners, their husbands, their fathers, their fathers-in-law. The abuse suffered by their children at the hands of family members, gang members, other children at school. As a lawyer in a particularly emotional area of law, (I only practice family based immigration focusing on removal defense, waivers, and humanitarian cases like U visas for crime victims, or political asylum, and criminal defense) I have heard my share of horrible stories. But I don’t usually have to hear them every day, much less 7 or 8 of them in one day, in horrible conditions where the client tells me the horrible reason she had to flee her country, then the horrible story of her journey to the US, then the horrible treatment she endured in the 5 detention centers she was at prior to Artesia, and finally the horrible treatment she has suffered since arriving.

There was the feeling of helplessness. Every day was some fresh hell. Some new petty bullshit that was meant to do nothing more than hinder the women’s access to the attorneys and break their spirits. Women told us they were called dogs and pigs by the agents as they were given food. One day the agent in charge decided no one could sit on the floor and no one could sleep in the chairs in the room where the women were waiting to meet with the attorneys. Not even the children. There was nothing for the children to do other than watch a TV that had a continuous loop of one of 6 DVD’s in English. No toys, no coloring books, no paper or crayons to draw, no books, no magazines. We brought coloring books and crayons. The guard took them and told us they were contraband. We brought magazines of cars and motorcycles. The guards took them and said they were contraband. We brought markers and gave them our copy paper to draw on. The guards took them and said they were contraband. The moms had to discuss their very traumatic stories, in rooms that offered no chance of confidentiality in front of their kids, because the kids had to be in the same room as the mother and there was nothing else to do in the room except watch DVDs in English. That is not to say that every agent was mean and hateful, some were, in fact very kind and did much to try to make the women and kids try not to feel so sad. Most were simply ambivalent and saw watching them as part of their job and nothing more. But there were a few that seemed to take pleasure in harassing the women and children and trying to break their spirits.

There was extreme frustration. The asylum officers would come in and call a client for an interview we had been told was later in the day. The attorney that had prepped the client was in another hearing so someone unfamiliar had to go. The guard would call a client for a hearing in front of the immigration judge, who was in Virginia and appearing by video the size of a laptop, 2 hours early because the time was told to us in Eastern time rather than mountain time. We would meet with clients who would hand us small pieces of paper written by other women who had been asking for weeks to see us and who had never been allowed by the guards and who had to resort to writing a note, giving it to another woman who had an appointment and would slip it to us. The notes would say their names and identifying “Alien” number and ask if we could request to see them because the guards wouldn’t let the woman come in herself.

We read many credible fear interviews that were denied that should not have been, where the interviewer just failed to follow the law and chose to ignore it. We read interviews where the interviewer clearly did not care to ask anything but cursory questions, over and over. We met with women that were forced to give their interview in Spanish when their native language was an indigenous dialect and were denied credible fear. We read interviews that were denied and then spoke to the woman only to find out that she was afraid to discuss the details of her abuse, sexual assault, rape, stalking, extortion, threats, etc in front of her minor child who was present in the room at the time of the interview. We talked to women whose families had hired private lawyers but who had not been able to speak to these lawyers because there was little to no access to phones. Women were given one phone call a day that usually lasted 3-5 minutes. They could sometimes earn additional phone calls if they cleaned the bathroom. If they called someone and that person did not answer they did not get to call anyone else. They were often not allowed to use the phones during business hours. Their attorneys would ask them to fax documents to them and agents told the women that they could not fax without money in their accounts, but families were not allowed to put money into any account.

This blog post is adapted from the speech I gave when I was installed as AILA’s President for the 2014-15 term. I was thrilled to be able to reflect at the Annual Conference hosted by my home chapter, the New England Chapter of AILA.

New England is where I found immigration and, if I hadn’t found immigration I don’t think that I would be practicing law. I started my legal career in New York as a commercial litigator, but I found my calling after moving to Vermont. I found it in immigration law through dance in Vermont – African dance in Vermont.

While I have always loved to dance, I’m not the most adept at it, but that never stopped me from enjoying all forms of dance in all its facets. So it was that in 1998 I began attending African dance classes in Burlington. Several members of the National Ballet of Guinea as well as Senegal and the Ivory Coast lived and worked in Burlington and after class they would ask me questions about their immigration status (P-3s). However, I knew nothing about immigration whatsoever and referred them to a terrific immigration attorney instead.

I am a first generation American (my mother was born in and escaped from Hungary) and between my history and my involvement with foreign dancers I made a life altering decision by deciding to concentrate only on immigration. I distinctly remember my first task. I needed to determine whether a client had been admitted to the U.S. Admitted? They were here weren’t they? – Of course they were admitted. It took 16 hours of research before I realized that I had entered a world where nothing was as it seemed: the world of immigration law.

Five years ago I started on my way to the AILA presidency, working my way up from Secretary through all the roles and responsibilities until this year. Looking back at those years, I reviewed the goals I had set out each year for myself and the organization. I took a look at what had been resolved and accomplished, what issues recurred over and over again, what issues still remain, and which of my goals have not yet been reached.

While many of my priorities changed from year to year one issue remained constant – ironically it was the lack of consistency and predictability in adjudications, determinations, rulings, and admissions – and the need to fix this through, among other things, interagency engagement. Our world requires that we typically deal with not just one agency, but at least two, and generally three.

When I meet with new clients, I along with other immigration attorneys, often find myself saying something akin to the following during our initial consultation: “Before we proceed it is imperative that you understand that, even if your petition is approved by the USCIS, you are not home free. You also need approval from the Department of State and then, even if you pass that hurdle, you still must obtain permission from U.S. Customs and Border Protection to actually enter the U.S.”

This situation is unfortunately a constant in all areas of our practice whether it is business, family, or removal. Think of H-1B visas denied after petition approval for critical employees, approved fiancées who never get here, or as we call it in our office, “love’s labors lost,” or waiver applicants with provisional grants denied on other grounds not previously believed to make one inadmissible. The interagency disconnect is not limited to the petition, visa, and subsequent admission situation. It is also at the heart of so many of the procedural issues that we face.

Thus, it makes sense that my primary long-term goal relates to AILA’s liaison work. One of the many benefits of living in Vermont is that I learned to practice immigration in a place where I truly had access to government officials and was able to work with them to address some of the issues that came up as a result of interagency miscommunication.

Having learned to practice where openness and accessibility continue to be the standard has guided my vision. Those of you who have sat in meetings with me likely have heard two recurrent themes. The first is that my local CBP, USCIS, and ICE offices are the exemplar. I have never felt that I could not approach them and they have always been willing to talk and listen. The second is a request I make, at each and every meeting: whether the agency would be open to a multi-agency dialogue at a later date.

I believe that many of our adjudication and process problems stem from the fact that two or more agencies have conflicting interpretations of the law or regulations and that they do not actually know the effect that their actions have on the applicant when that applicant must next deal with another agency. They may not know what switching to an automated form might mean for another agency which still requires a hardcopy. I believe that we could solve so many issues if we were just permitted to sit down together and explain the problems that crop up.

Interagency engagement is not the only way to attain more consistency and predictability in what we do. Another aspect is the need to locate, isolate, and change the negative policy that seems to be driving so many adjudications, decisions, and admissions. In our area of practice, I think more than in any other, discretion abounds. But it seems that more often than not the trend is toward denial rather than acceptance.

Earlier I told you that I found immigration through African Dance. However, not only did African Dance lead me to immigration, it taught me immigration. In representing my dance community I encountered early on in my career almost every immigration situation there is. The good news is that I was able to help them, at least until fairly recently.

Almost three years ago, one of my clients returned home to Guinea to visit his family and bring back new and current dance and drum rhythms. He had an approved P-3 and had never been in trouble with the law or violated his status. However despite that, his visa was denied for immigrant intent. He had returned to Guinea because of his strong family ties, yet he was denied. That sort of denial would not have happened just a few years ago.

Through all the ups and downs of immigration law practice, one thing has been constant – AILA. AILA is a community where people who perform the same work can obtain from it the tools they need to practice their profession. I truly believe that with just the InfoNet and AILAlink immigration attorneys have all the tools they need to practice immigration and, practice it well. But by also offering accessibility to mentors, practice management help, ethics guidance, media training, advocacy, and liaison assistance, immigration attorneys get all that they need to become well rounded and truly excellent in their field.

More than that though, I believe AILA goes far beyond just a professional community. It is also a fellowship. I practiced law for 11 years before joining AILA. I never experienced elsewhere the support, camaraderie and professional generosity with my peers that I found here. I ask that all of you continue to engage, to care deeply about AILA and its governance, and to share your thoughts and insights.

I am looking forward to this year. To liaising with the government and you. To working together to make positive changes in immigration, to make things better for our clients, to making AILA the best it can be.

Almost every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday I wake up with a feeling that something is special. They are dance days. I hope that every day this coming year is a dance day. If that happens I know that we can accomplish our goals and make a difference, as, in the words of the Hopi who steadfastly believed that through dance they would influence the Gods and accomplish their goals, – To watch us dance is to hear our hearts speak. So, let’s dance!

This is a post adapted from my speech last week in accepting an award from AILA for outstanding contributions made as a young lawyer in the field of immigration and nationality law. While the occasion was a happy one and I was honored to receive that award, I took the opportunity, as I do here, to emphasize what is wrong with our current system and that we desperately need to fix it. I hope you find it of interest:

As I think about the great migrations of people, I’m reminded of my own “gringa” migration from the heartland of Iowa to Washington, D.C. While my own journey was not nearly as harrowing an experience, it is that journey that led me to practice immigration law, to AILA, and to the work that I’m so passionate about.

I have been incredibly lucky to have several amazing people guiding me throughout my journey. My parents who taught me that everyone no matter their background deserves the chance to pursue their dreams. My wonderful husband Justin, whose constant love and support sustains me. Michelle Mendez, my friend and co-professor in the Catholic University immigration clinic who is the most selfless, passionate advocate that I know. The dedicated staff of Benach Ragland, and my partners who I deeply respect and admire; there is no one else I would rather work with in pursuit of our shared mission. Finally my mentor, the late great Michael Maggio: despite his busy immigration practice, he always found time to contribute to our field as a policy advocate, a pro bono champion and a mentor. I have strived to use Michael’s well-rounded approach to our work as a model in contributing through my own practice, especially as I’ve observed the developments in our field over the last few years.

We’re going to get a little serious now.

We are now faced with a humanitarian crisis at our borders. CBP and ICE officers are using excessive force, inhumane detention conditions, and “no process” removals. We are faced with immigration courts fighting against insufficient resources, overcrowded dockets and cabined legal discretion. And we are faced with a renewed assault on our asylum system by Congress and the agencies themselves.

Yet, no actions are taken by those in power to fix our system. Instead we have a Congress that points fingers and strikes a pose in Capitol Hill hearings and an Administration which, on the back of an immigration reform-focused campaign, has taken to putting Band-Aids on gashes rather than treating the underlying wounds.

Until we have leaders who are going to work together to solve real problems that affect real people, American businesses, and separated families, it is up to us. It is for these reasons that this award is only the beginning of my journey.

Thank you so much for this honor and I hope you will join me in restoring due process and humanity in our immigration system.

In my first week as an immigration lawyer, 286 Chinese migrants waded ashore in Queens, and a significant number were detained at a county prison near me in York, Pennsylvania. In 1993, there was no significant infrastructure for handling those hundreds of cases in the Northeast – no detention facilities to hold them, government lawyers to prosecute them, judges to decide their cases, or immigration lawyers in York to volunteer to represent them. Everyone involved with the process felt overwhelmed, and many expressed the fear that thousands more Chinese migrants would undertake the dangerous ocean journey if the Golden Venture passengers were granted the ability to stay in the United States.

In spite of feeling overwhelmed, the government provided the resources to detain these migrants and to process their applications for relief. The community rallied to help reunite the children among the migrants with their families, or to find foster homes for them if they had none; to train lawyers in asylum law and other humanitarian forms of relief, and to find volunteers to visit the detainees and help them communicate with their families. The answer to the influx, ultimately, was improved economic growth in China that provided employment opportunities in the country to prospective migrants, which lessened the demand for migration from China to the United States.

On our southern border today, everyone is feeling overwhelmed by a humanitarian crisis: the detention of 200-250 child migrants each day along the US border with Mexico. These children are unaccompanied by parents or relatives – while some are coming to try and reunite with relatives in the United States, many more are simply fleeing intolerable conditions in their home countries. The majority of these children come from three countries: Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador. In these three countries, murder rates have skyrocketed in the past five years – Honduras has the highest murder rate in the world – and other forms of criminal violence have also risen. Children interviewed by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) have reported fleeing forced recruitment into gangs, much as “child soldiers” were recruited in African civil wars over the past decade.

While some elected leaders opposed to comprehensive immigration reform are claiming that children are coming to the United States because they believe they will be eligible for some form of legal status, that claim flies in the face of the fact that the U.S. is not the only country receiving displaced children and other individuals fleeing from these countries. UNHCR reports that since 2009, the number of asylum applications from citizens of El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras received by the surrounding countries of Belize, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama and Mexico combined has increased by 712 percent.

What is to be done with these children? As the United States has done in response to each of the large migration flows caused by political turmoil or natural disaster in the last twenty years – from the Cubans fleeing to Florida by boat in the mid-1990s to the survivors of the earthquake in Haiti – the children have been detained for removal proceedings in which it will be determined by a judge as to whether they have any claim to be able to stay in the United States. They will be detained unless or until they can be reunited with a family member, either inside the United States or in their home country. If they are reunited with a family member in the U.S., they will remain in removal proceedings until a judge decides their fate. While the number of these children has risen in the past year, the administration has already been making plans to deal with it – witness their budget request for additional funding to detain and process these children, which demonstrates their planning for the eventuality that rates of arrival may continue to climb.

As many commentators have noted, however, the answer to the bigger question of how to prevent these children from coming to the United States does not lie at the US-Mexico border. Rather, the United States must continue to engage with the governments in El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala to build capacity for dealing with the violent criminals who are causing the conditions these children are fleeing. Just as disaster aid to Haiti and a migration agreement with Cuba reduced the number of illegal migrant from those countries, the best answer to this newest wave of migrants will be assistance to the countries from which they are fleeing.

Solving the migration problem from those countries cannot happen overnight – and in the meantime, the United States must continue to treat these children humanely, to reunite them with families wherever they may be, and to grant them asylum if they are eligible for it. If they are found to have no relief from deportation, they should be returned to their home country in as humane and safe a way as possible. These children have already been traumatized at the hands of criminals – the U.S. immigration system should not traumatize them further.